I have a confession.
I know when I write I usually paint this pretty picture where I’m full of motivation, strong and I’m busy kicking serious chronic illness tushy in killer-but comfy-outfits. And as much as I hate to break the euphoric bubble–I’m not actually like that most of the time.
I use this blog to boost my own mood and to motivate myself. John Steinbeck once wrote a series of writing tips, one of which said to forget your generalised audience. He said that writing to all the faceless people who you hope to read your work is terrifying. Instead you should pick one person and write to them.
Well. I write to myself. You are your worst critique and potentially you’re own greatest fan.
In reality my life kind of sucks. Restless nights because of insomnia, pain riddled days, I’m pretty sure my prefrontal cortex forgot how to convert short term memory to long term memory and I’m nauseous all the time. This puts a big strainer on my social life. When I do venture out into the great beyond I usually end up spending two days in bed recovering. The many people who know me personally, they never see this person. The me that’s constantly beat down, sleeps in the bathroom and sips Gatorade just to stay somewhat healthy.
I don’t have the luxury of a esteemed loved one who takes care of me. I pretty much do everything on my own. Yea, I have my dad and he’s great. But aside from reminding me to take my meds and keeping me company he pretty much keeps to himself. I have friends, many of whom have their own lives and illnesses. I don’t mind taking care of myself, I’m painfully independent. Besides I already have a husband, two boyfriends and a Turian lover courtesy of BIOWARE.
I often find myself typing depressing posts and ultimately delete them because I’ve convinced myself that no one cares. But I care. I go back and read past posts about those days where I kicked RA and Fibro in the ass. I go back and remember how good I felt or how brave I was.
I constantly have to talk myself into getting out of bed, remind myself to breathe and that I am not alone. I have all of you, and the countless other spoonies out there. Though I often tell them I’m fine. Not sure who I’m trying to convince with that, me or them… but sometimes it’s true.
Sure I think it would be nice to have someone willing to sit with me on the bathroom floor all night, but until I find such a person I shall have to do it myself. I’ll have a cat soon, maybe he/she can be my knight in furry armour.
Stay strong WildeKats and never stop fighting.